


Love is poison

by Alphawave



Series: Gas 'em blast 'em [5]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Caustic finally gets together with Fuse in the least romantic way possible, Caustic gets to be a little more spontaneous because Fuse is a bad influence, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fuse is part-Noongar now and he's got the vernacular to back it up, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Or maybe it is romantic who knows XD, Smoking, Soft Caustic | Alexander Nox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29901219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Caustic has never joined in for the weekly barbecue until tonight. It's obvious to others why he decides to join in this time, and it all has to do with a certain Salvonian contestant that decided to join in.Nobody knows how Caustic will behave, including Caustic himself. But, as it turns out, he's not so above it after all.
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Fuse | Walter Fitzroy
Series: Gas 'em blast 'em [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148978
Comments: 27
Kudos: 40





	Love is poison

On the rooftop of a nondescript building is a fireplace, a roaring portable BBQ grill, and a variety of different cushions. The night is dark and the stars dance with the hovercrafts and the spaceships and the world feels quieter than usual. On this rooftop is merriment and song and food and drink. Bonds are forged, lives become entwined. It's as close to peace as one can get in the Outlands.

It's the last place Caustic wants to be, which makes it all the more perplexing when he finds himself walking up the dingy stairs to the rooftop party.

Most of the legends are here. Gibraltar is grilling meats at the BBQ, his Hawaiian print shirt partially hidden by an apron that says 'Papa bear' with a Polar bear graphic. Mirage is mixing up cocktails of various colours and quantities to Loba and Wraith, the latter serving them to the other guests. Octane is drumming on his legs to accompany Lifeline with her drum sticks, who in turn is providing accompaniment for Fuse, who is strumming a little tune on his acoustic guitar. His singular eye is closed as he hums along to the tune and Caustic finds his attention drawn to him once more. Lit up by the flickering embers, the tiniest bit of sweat clinging onto his forehead, Fuse manages to draw in all the attention even when he doesn't try.

When Caustic steps past the threshold, everyone stops to look at him. A mix of confused and surprised faces. Near the ledge he notices Ms. Paquette hiding in the darkness, her body trembling in discomfort.

He doesn't care what they think about him, but even he feels the sting. He knows he's not welcome here. This just proves his hypothesis correct. Why did he even come here? Why?

"You ain't lost, old man? The old people's home's that way," Rampart points at a nondescript building in the distance.

Gibraltar turns around and tilts his head, a knowing smile upon his face.

"Yeah, this ain't your party, man. No need to kill the vibe," Mirage adds.

Wraith crosses her arms in front of her. "Why are you here?"

"Because I invited him here," Fuse announces, putting down his acoustic guitar to greet Caustic. "Didn't think you'd actually come along."

Caustic grimaces beneath his mask. "I brought a salad," he said, handing the bowl over to Fuse in such a way that their hands do not touch. "I believe that is an acceptable gift for such festivities."

"Well, don't that sound like a good addition, eh? Guess you're not gonna get into a biff later on, aren't ya?" Fuse turns to the others, with some (notably Mirage) shrinking away.

Caustic ignores those incessant stares burning into his backside. "For the sake of these celebrations, I will remain civil unless provoked. If my presence disturbs you so much, pretend I am not here or leave. I will only do so when I desire."

His explanation seems to be enough, with the other legends recommencing whatever activities they were engaged with earlier. When everyone appears to be occupied, Fuse approaches Caustic. "Kinda expected the others won't give you the warm welcome so I might as well do it for them.  _ Kaya, wandjoo,  _ mate. Hello and welcome." His hand pats Caustic's shoulder gently. "Am real good to have ya here. True blue."

Caustic tries to ignore that strange fuzzy feeling in his chest whenever Fuse makes physical contact with him. It doesn't feel unpleasant. "I don't know why I even bothered coming at all."

"Maybe so you won't leave me alone with the pups? Either way, chuck the salad over there with Gibby and take a lounge with the rest of us by the campfire." He gives another pat on the shoulder before returning back to his seat, continuing his conversation with Horizon about god knows what.

Caustic rolls his eyes as he deposits the salad besides all the other dishes people brought. It doesn't take a doctorate to figure out who brought which dish. Pork chops from Mirage, steaks from Fuse, haggis from Horizon, chicken tikka masala from Rampart, among others. Gibraltar attends to the grill, also humming along to a random song of his choice.

He can normally tolerate Gibraltar, except when he tries to bring up the topic of Ms. Paquette. Tonight, however, just his mere presence infuriates him more than usual.

"Aloha, Caustic. Haven't seen you come to our outings before, brudda."

"That is because I had better things to do than to socialise."

"Ah, but you miss out the fun that way. Last time," he points his thumb back towards Octane, "Octane tried to supercharge Lifeline's health drone so he can ride it like a hoverboard. Poor little manini was weeping back home to its mama before Lifeline knocked some sense to him."

"I don't think you understand. I am not here to make friends, Gibraltar."

"Coulda fooled me, brudda. You came here. Guess I was right to hope for the better for ya."

Caustic turns his head away. By the campfire, Fuse has picked up his guitar once again and is asking for song requests. Someone (probably Mirage) requested Wonderwall. Fuse laughs for several seconds before giving Mirage a flat no. At least the Salvonian has some taste.

"What'd he say to convince you?" Gibraltar asks.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I'm not  _ lolo _ , brudda. We all saw it when you were on good terms with Wattson, and we all see it now with Fuse. You two must be close."

"We are not friends," Caustic insists, which is partially true. They have yet to establish what their relationship is. They meet every now and then, sometimes to talk and sometimes to do everything except talk. His dalliances with Fuse have been admittedly entertaining, and their conversations can often be enlightening. That does not make them friends.

"I'm aware you're not friends," Gibraltar smirked. "You know, I can tell whether someone's bruises have been from combat or  _ something else _ . And that included the bruises on Fuse's neck after your so-called ' _ fight'  _ last time." He pumps his eyebrows suggestively.

Caustic curls his fists by his side. He knew he should have convinced Fuse to cover those bruises up somehow. He knew he shouldn't have accompanied him to the lounge, but it was its own little thrill seeing the tender flesh of that neck turn purple from his own hands. Maybe that will help him with this pent-up anger within his soul.

He turns to Gibraltar, who has turned his attention to the barbeque. Gibraltar still grins, flipping the various meats on the grill over. A waft of heavenly smoke rises up into the atmosphere.

"You like him," Gibraltar says so casually, like it's not the last thing Caustic wants to hear.

"I was invited here, and with no other plans I decided to join just this once to see what fools see as entertainment nowadays. I did not expect to have my presence here be interrogated. Especially not by the likes of you, Gibraltar."

"You're not answering the question."

"And you won't get an answer."

Gibraltar takes a step back. "Hey, I ain't tryna get up in your space. I'm always here for a chat, whether it be about Wattson or Fuse or something else."

Caustic wants to ask what the catch is, but then he remembers the first proper conversation he had with Fuse, and how he incorrectly assumed Fuse also wanted something in return. Foolish people, he realise, rarely have ulterior motives. They don't think forward while considering the past, they just look to the present to guide them. Gibraltar is a foolish man, and one Caustic has failed to corrupt. He doubts Fuse will be any easier to corrupt. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that Fuse has corrupted him, breaking him down molecule by molecule if their bodies happen to be in a close enough proximity.

He doesn't want to make the same mistake he made with Fuse and assume only the worst. A man of science such as him, he cannot afford to repeat mistakes.

"The Salvonian has a unique perspective that has helped recontextualise my experiments. Though the airship attack was not entirely his fault, it has opened up new avenues to pursue. Our combat abilities complement one another. But that is all there is to us. I will not have you spread lies by suggesting my relationship with Fuse is anything other than one borne out of convenience and coincidence."

"Sounds like you two are better together," Gibraltar grins.

Caustic stares very intently at the cityscape sprawled out before them. Gibraltar chuckles under his breath, soft and knowing.

" _ Mahalo nui loa _ . For the salad, and for coming along tonight. Always thought there'd be some hope for ya yet."

Caustic rolls his eyes as he departs from the grill. He needs to find himself a place to sit down far away from the ilk and the crowd, but before he does that he needs a drink. He heads for a long table where Mirage is surrounded by various alcoholic beverages. His clone greets him, posing in that ridiculous manner, before the real Mirage turns around and nearly drops the cocktail shaker in his hand.

"C-Caustic! What, uh…what brings you here? I've never seen you drink. Or…take off that mask. Hey, is he allowed to take off his mask?" He glances nervously at whoever happens to be nearby, which just so happens to be a holographic projection of himself shrugging.

"Do you have scotch?" Caustic asks.

"Uh…" Mirage blinks rapidly.

Of course he doesn't. It's not the Lounge, it's a rooftop party with none of the usual amenities. He should have brought his own drink. Less risk of being poisoned.

"Whiskey?"

"S-should have. Uh…let's see." He glances at the bottles for a few seconds. "Single malt Belik's alright? Oh wait. Think I still got that bottle Horizon gave me from last time. Yeah, we also got a blended malt Airceig. Arkaig? Air-cage? Yeah, I gotta ask her how to pronounce that next time."

"A single malt," Caustic snaps. "On the rocks."

"C-coming right up, sir. I mean, Caustic. I mean…Doctor Caustic sir?"

Mirage quickly fixes the drink and hands it over in a plastic cup. Caustic grimaces at the crude, unremarkable drink container, but Mirage is already loudly conversing with Wraith who just stares at him in utter confusion. Caustic knows when his presence is unwanted, and so he turns around and observes the party once more. The more reclusive legends are chatting towards the edge of the balcony. A strong gust of wind or a quick shove and they would tumble down to their death without their trusty jumpjets to save them. They must be idiots to remain so relaxed amongst one another even now. It's human nature to betray and kill. Sooner or later this palpable peace will splinter and this merry group will be thrust into chaos once more. And Caustic will be there to observe it all.

He could start it. Observe some additional data, but then he catches Ms. Paquette watching him from the corner and he violently remembers the last time he did such a thing and it backfired terribly. Crypto and Ms. Paquette have never been closer, and his past threatens to rise from the dead with every new person he meets. And the way she looks at him now, hardened and firm. No longer so naïve. Exactly what he hoped for, at the cost of her trust and her broken heart.

Perhaps that is why he doesn't like parties. The past always like to stab him from the back. 

He looks for an empty spot to sit, aware of the eyes that follow him around like a hawk. Fuse turns to him and pats the deck chair to his left repeatedly. Like a moth to the flame, Caustic finds himself drifting towards the campfire and towards Fuse, whose face is ruddy from drink. Fuse is not drunk, he never seems to be able to get drunk, but he's not completely sober either. From the few times that they went drinking together, Caustic quickly ascertained that Fuse is a happy drunk.

"Saved ya a spot," Fuse says with a smile.

Caustic wordlessly takes a seat, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone in particular. Fuse rests his guitar on his chair and pops open a beer bottle with his elbow. He takes a big swig and sighs in content.

"Ey, you gotta show me how you do that, amigo," Octane says.

"Trademark Fusey skill, slim. Lose an arm and maybe I’ll tell ya then."

Before Octane can open his mouth, Lifeline cuts in. "Nuh rump wid him. Ya wan him to go an break the rest of him too?"

"Aww, c’mon, hermana. Imagine how fast I’d be if I was all metal?"

"Go on wit cha, try yer luck. But don come ta Lifeline when ya can’t skip the queue and get some metal for ya stump."

"Ay, don’t make fun of a man and his stump." Fuse giggles childishly. "Not everybody’s stump can please everybody."

"Ah. So yer a funny man now too," Lifeline shakes her own beer bottle accusingly at him.

"Such vulgarities," Caustic murmurs under his breath.

Fuse turns to Caustic. "Hey, I’m following the rules, just like the Syndicate told me to. Ain’t swearing, ain’t smoking, ain’t getting myself into trouble. Well…not trying to anyway."

"You smoke?" Caustic asks. He doesn't remember Fuse bringing that up before.

"Have to quit cold turkey for the games, what with the no smoking policy and all. Bit _ djaraboort _ if you ask me, considering the explosives and Wally and the smoke grenades. Even your gas, Caustic."

"Your secondary smoke, even if you claim to have quit, can add numerous toxins to the air, many of which are carcinogens. Just by breathing, you will be instrumental for someone’s untimely demise. No matter how long you’ve gone cold turkey," Caustic points out.

"Well then I guess yer gonna be the first victim, if what you said is true," Fuse shrugs. "Look, I’ve gone a whole month without so far, and I barely think about going on a smoko. My ma’d be proud if she could see me."

"Would she be proud of you to be here, surrounded by incompetent fools young enough to be your children, singing songs and telling tall tales?"

"Hey, all my tales are real, big fella," Fuse insists.

"Prove it," Caustic challenges back.

"Alright then, I will." Fuse points his beer bottle at Caustic. "Two truths and a lie. Figure out which one’s which. You can ask me as many questions for whichever story ya want. Winner gets a drink of their choice from yours truly, and by that, I mean I'll nip over to Mirage and make the order."

"A ridiculous game," Caustic scoffs. Who would be idiotic enough to play this game?

"I’m in, amigo. These stories better be craaazy though," Octane chimes in. 

Of course...

"Go on wit cha," Lifeline adds. "Tell ya stories."

Fuse takes a big swig of his beer and smiles thoughtfully. His eyes are not completely clear, Caustic notices. His gaze is unfocused, cloudy, not like the sharp piercing gaze he employs for the bedroom, as sharp and wicked as the serrated edge of his dagger. Caustic removes his mask and takes a sip of his whiskey, watching the swirling hurricane settle down into a temperate storm.

When Fuse glances in Caustic’s direction, his smile grows wider. Caustic hides a scowl and takes another, larger sip of his whiskey.

Fuse raises one metal finger. "I won three fishing tournaments in two weeks, each hosted on a different planet, because a mate of mine dared me to." Fuse raises a second finger. "I’m banned from another planet ‘cause I accidentally ate one of their endangered species." A third. "I got a tramp stamp of my ex’s name."

"Pssh. Last one is so boring. That one must be fake," Octane says.

"The ass tattoo is the boring one for ya? Not the fishing tournaments?" Lifeline turns to Octane.

"Fishing is also boring, but to sign up for three different tournaments and fly to them in two weeks? And to win? That one must've been exciting."

"Dunno 'bout that. Ain’t heard of no fishing tournaments before."

"Lock in three for ya, slims?" Octane nods his head. Fuse turns to Lifeline. "And number one for ya, doc?"

Lifeline thinks for several seconds. "What dem names of dem tournaments anyway?"

"Can’t rightly remember. Think one of them was the Super Bass tournament on Psamanthe? The tournaments weren’t all that exciting, all I did was drop a grenade into the water and scooped all the fishies up. And before ya get on my case, they were all made-up ponds built specifically for the tournaments. Didn’t just drop a bomb into a lake and killed everything." He elbows Caustic with a playful smirk. "Pity it weren't the Superb Ass tournament. 'Cause I bet I know who'd win, ay?"

Lifeline and Octane snicker childishly. Fuse pumps his eyebrows mischievously. A combination of actions that makes Caustic want to throttle Fuse a little bit more. A pity that Fuse likes being throttled in the first place. Such a lecherous reprobate.

"I don’t buy the fishing. Lock in numbah one for me, will ya?" Lifeline asks.

"And you, big fella? What’s your guess?" Fuse turns to Caustic with a knowing smirk.

Caustic takes a long sip of his drink. They both know Caustic is aware that Fuse has no tattoo on his posterior, or anywhere on his backside for that matter. The only tattoo on his person is the one that snakes around his bicep. How he knows this is the case is something he’s rather not admit out loud, and if he looks too confident in his answer, then he will only fuel the rumours about his so-called relationship with Fuse. There is no relationship. Just bodies moving in tandem, mouthpieces stealing away information for future usage. Relationships are messy and unnecessarily complicated and not at all worth the extra effort to maintain. 

Then again, Fuse is a very uncomplicated man. Which makes him predictable.

Caustic finishes off his drink and leans back in his seat. "They’re all true," Caustic utters. "The fishing tournament, your ban from another planet, and the tattoo. All those stories are true."

"And doc Caustic’s the winner!" Fuse announces with a generous swig of his drink. Caustic finally notices the beer in Fuse's hand is the same Gaean pale ale brand he bought the first time he brought Walter to his residence. Perhaps the man did have some taste.

"Wait, you have a tramp stamp?" Octane asks.

"Don’t show him," Lifeline says quickly.

"Don’t worry, doc. There ain’t nothing there to see. Got it lasered off years ago."

The very idea of other people being in Fuse’s life fills him with a strange sense of anger despite knowing, logically, that a man such as Fuse would have had multiple partners in the past. They both know he isn’t seeing anyone currently. Why does Caustic burn regardless?

"What happen with the ex then? Get too bored of fishing?" Octane asks. 

"Oh boy, how do I start this story? When I was a young welp, there's this girl I knew called Jinx. Real _ koordamart,  _ she was. Real nice and helpful, bit of an adrenaline junkie like yourself. You two would’ve been peas in a pod." Despite wearing a mask, Octane seemed pleased to be compared to someone else. "Anyway, when things got serious between us, we wanted to get matching tatts. I chose the design, she chose the location. I just went with our name's in a fancy font, and she decided it had to go on our asses, where it stayed for well over a year…until Mags got a hold of Jinx."

Octane leans in, entranced. "And what happened, amigo?"

"Turns out Jinx was part of Kelly's gang. Originally sent in like a spy of sorts, tryna sabotage Maggie and take her recruits for her own gang, and Jinx got to Mags through me. Never knew if she was just using me or if what we had was legit, because before I knew it, Mags put her on a one-way ticket to the Bonecage. As you can imagine, she…didn't last long. Funnily enough, that's what first got me interested in the Bonecage. And now I'm here, so I guess I gotta thank Mags for that one."

He lifts his beer and takes a long, long gulp. He wipes his mouth of foam, his easy smile fading into a grimace for just a second. His eyes remain cloudy. 

"Wow," Octane says. "And here I thought I was whipped."

"Ya get more than a whip when I be done with ya," Lifeline quips.

Caustic scoffs. "Only dullards will ever be entertained by such derisible drivel."

"Something up with my story, mate?" Fuse looks up at Caustic.

"Any simpleton can come up with an engaging story if one follows the proper principles and structures. It need not be genuine. All you have to say is what people want to hear."

"Like you can give a better story than me? Everybody knows a good story involves something stupid happening, and I've been doing stupid things since I was an ankle biter. You don’t strike me as the adventurous type. Not in your youth at least," Fuse adds with a barely concealed wink. Caustic feels his stomach turn in a not-unpleasant manner.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Might as well be, big fella," Fuse smirks. His eyes are crystal clear and focused on Caustic once more. "Impress me."

"Oh, this should be good," Octane wiggles excitedly in his chair.

Caustic takes a sip of his whiskey and thinks for several seconds. Or at least gives the guise that he is thinking. Though he has never been a people's person, part of the reason why he was able to rise up in his field so quickly was for his presentation skills, allowing him to communicate the most complicated research and condense into something even a child could understand. There have been times where he has to think on the spot. This situation, although not a scientific conference, is not too different.

Caustic swirls the glass, makes sure to make eye contact with every single person sitting by the campfire, and says in a monotone voice, "I slept with the son of a Pharmaceuticals company to acquire a job."

Lifeline spits out her drink, causing the flames to flicker. Fuse's eyes blow up like balloons. Octane is cackling like a madman, though whether it's because he finds the mental image funny or this is just a sudden outburst due to surprise, Caustic cannot say. A few of the others near the edge of the balcony turn to look at him, some in confusion and others in thinly veiled surprise.

"OK, you got our attention," Fuse says, looking almost impressed. "How the hell did that happen?"

"I was at the end of my tenure at Vinson Dynamics and was looking for a job with a more substantial pay that will allow me to make use of my skills. As a scientist, networking with others is imperative to your survival, and so I agreed to present my research at a scientific conference. And it was there that I met him. Stefan Erhart."

"Stefan Erhart, the CEO of Erhart Pharmaceuticals?!" Lifeline screeches.

"He was not CEO at the time when I met him. Back then, he was merely the son of the current CEO of the time." Caustic leans back in his seat. "Truth be told I did not even know about his connection to Erhart Pharmaceuticals until the next day. I thought him some vacuous brat that cared more for the champagne on offer than any intellectual discourse. I did not realise how correct my initial assessment was until later on the night when he approached me, drunk beyond cognitive reason, and…propositioned me."

"And you agreed to get laid?" Fuse asks.

"Yes," Caustic says, careful to keep the emotion out of his voice. "I do not plan on telling you any details. Suffice to say, it goes about as well as one would expect from a man who was too inebriated to figure out how to open the door to his own hotel room."

Fuse leans in. "Then what happened?"

"I find out that he is the son and heir apparent to Erhart Pharmaceuticals the next morning. I expected his father would not be too pleased to find his son fooling around, so I rummaged through the brat's belongings and found a number for his father. I then blackmailed the father into giving me a position within the company in exchange for my silence. The day after that, I was fast tracked into Erhart Pharmaceuticals’ Biochemistry department, where I then spent the next four years. Never once did I meet Stefan Erhart, or his father, again."

Fuse leans back in his seat and lets out a low whistle. Lifeline and Octane fully have their attention upon Caustic.

"Bloody hell," Fuse suddenly smirks. "Didn’t take you for a wild card."

"Hmph. Showing some Pharmaceutical Corp what’s what? I can respect da hustle."

"Can’t believe you did that. So cold, amigo, so cold."

"And you should not believe it," Caustic says, drinking the last bit of his whiskey. He keeps his gaze on Fuse. "It was all completely fabricated."

There’s a few seconds of silence, and then a myriad of frustrated groans coming from all different directions. Fuse punches Caustic lightly in the arm, shaking his head.

"You cheeky cunt," he laughs. "You really got me going there."

Caustic cannot help but let out a small smirk. "The act of beguiling you all is child's play, though I must admit, I did not expect you all to believe me at face value. Did you not listen to what I just said earlier or are you suffering from anterograde amnesia?"

Fuse is still laughing when he slaps Caustic on the back. "Ahh, you knew what you were doing, mate. I’ll go pop by and grab a drink. Ya want anything?"

"A beer. Same brand as the one in your grasp."

"Gotcha. I’ll be right back." And Fuse struts away, looking a bit brighter than he did earlier.

He glances back at Octane and Lifeline, who he catches staring at him. They quickly turn to each other, pretending to engage in a meaningless topic of conversation.

Caustic’s almost certain that the other legends have been staring at him more intently than normal. At first he thought it might be because his presence at the party is unwelcome, but now he suspects there is perhaps another reason. A one-eyed Salvonian in the afterglow, lit up on centre stage, and Caustic is the hapless audience member dragged up with him. That must be it.

A finger pokes at his shoulder suddenly, breaking his concentration. He refrains from taking that hand and crushing it, turning around, ready to berate Fuse for his constant touching and feeling and tapping, making his insides do circus tricks.

But it’s not Fuse behind him. In fact, it's the last person Fuse wants to see tonight. Ms. Paquette stands before him, a box of fruit juice sits in her hand. Her face is displeased but it does not waver. As if she is forcing herself to stand here before him.

"Dr. Caustic," she says.

"Ms. Paquette," Caustic grunts. Why now? Why her?

"We should talk." She motions for him to follow her to the corner, far away from the others. Try as he might, he is nevertheless compelled to follow her, remembering to keep a respectable distance behind her. She’s uncomfortable enough as it is, and unlike Revenant, he only finds entertainment in others' discomfort if it is due to his intellectual superiority. 

The night has fully descended and the lights of the city glitter brilliantly. The neon glow highlights the lightning strikes that tarnish Ms. Paquette’s face, her blue eyes sparking with electricity. When she turns to him finally, the brief glimpse of his own reflection in her eyes is enough to surprise him. He barely looks recognisable in her eyes. He almost looks soft. Weak. A shadow of his former self. There's only one person to blame for this. Maybe two, if Caustic counts himself.

"I see you have come to our party, for once. I believe this is the first time you have come to one," she says.

Just like always, Caustic never knows what to say to her. Her complicated mind makes even the simple act of conversing with her complicated. That one moment hangs in the air between them. A mustard coloured poison, choking all who come near, and this time Caustic is not immune to its effects.

"I had no time to entertain such meaningless festivities. There was nothing to be gained from my arrival."

"And yet you are here." She narrows her eyes at him. "What brings you here?"

Caustic turns his head away. He can’t lie to her. She'll see right through his deception. "I don’t know."

She sighs. "It’s him, isn’t it? Fuse?"

"I do not know what you are talking about." Why does everyone assume it’s the Salvonian that brings him here? What do they see about the two of them? What do they see?

"I do not judge, Doctor. In fact, I’m…happy for you. Happy that you finally have a friend."

"Why do you infer that I am friends with the Salvonian?" He wants to spit the word ‘friend’ out like poison, but it comes out smooth and mellow like the finest whiskey. "Why does everyone assume there is some form of bond between the two of us? Intellectually and physically I am the more capable one of the two of us. His knowledge of hackneyed guitar songs and Salvonian warlords does not even warrant him my attention. He is but the dirt I scrape off my shoe. So tell me. Why assume I would use one neuron of my brain on him?"

Ms. Paquette clasps her hands at the front and for the first time in a long, long while, she smiles at him.

"Because you look happier when you’re with him," she says simply.

Happy? Is that what this emotion is? This strange, selfish desire to be close to Fuse’s side, to listen to his drivel and hear his ridiculous songs and learn all about his life? That’s happiness?

Caustic frowns. "I don’t understand."

"I do not expect you to understand what happiness is. I expect the concept to be as foreign to you as trust is. Perhaps even friendship and love are strangers in your life." She straightens her back. "This is not me forgiving you, by the way. This is me telling you what I have observed. Nothing more."

"What must I do for you to regain your trust in me?"

"I cannot give you that answer. But if you want a hint?" She glances behind Caustic; at what or who, Caustic is intelligent enough to hazard an educated guess. "Trust someone if you want them to trust you in return. Then we can talk."

And just like that, Ms. Natalie Paquette strides past him, sucking on that childish juice box in her hand, waving excitedly at Bloodhound and greeting them like Caustic isn’t even there.

Happiness? Trust? Love? Ridiculous sentiments. Just exploitable weaknesses programmed into the human body, degenerating them from the inside out, too slow for most to notice. That’s what he thinks. That is what they are. Saccharine poison covered in sweet chocolate. It goes down smooth, but soon you'll be left gasping for air as it destroys you from the inside out. 

He glances back at the campfire, Fuse settling down and grabbing his guitar. He waves goodbye at the last few legends who are leaving early (including, fortunately, Ms. Paquette and Gibraltar) and then begins to strum his guitar, tuning it by ear.  For a brief second their gazes happen to connect and that ridiculous moustache rises just a bit higher and Caustic suddenly realises that he’d already swallowed that slow-acting sugary poison.

Love is weakness. And if love is weakness, then Fuse has made him very weak indeed.

Caustic walks up to the campfire and stands before Fuse. The latter grabs an opened beer bottle and hands it to Caustic. Fingers brush against one another, glove against glove, data transmitting data. Both their gazes has lowered to the beer bottle, Fuse’s hand lingering before retreating back to his side.

"Yeah, uh…" Fuse clears his throat loudly. "Wanted this brand, right? We wanna get more for the future, best grab it now or head downstairs. Mirage’s about to stock up for tonight."

Caustic notes that Fuse is telling the truth. Mirage appears to be folding an outdoor table with some difficulty, Rampart helping him pack the bottles away carefully. He doesn’t catch their conversation. Something about how they should have prepared downstairs earlier. 

Fuse notices Caustic’s gaze, adding, "Lot of folks are heading downstairs to continue the party. It’s getting cold up here. You could join the pups or head off."

He sees the out Fuse gives him, but it seems just a bit too obvious. "You do not appear to be in any hurry to leave."

"Don’t need to join the pups. They wouldn’t miss me. Which means I can just relax and have a cold one under the stars."

"Alone?"

Fuse smiles softly. "Depends on whether you join me."

Caustic sits down next to Fuse in his original seat. The chair has shifted closer to Fuse’s seat during his conversation with Wattson but he does not adjust it. "I do not desire to join them in their moronic festivities."

"Is that so?" Fuse mumbles, less to Caustic and more to himself. He strums a few chords with the guitar and tunes the strings to his tastes.

Caustic feels like he must say something. So he says the thing the one thing racing through his mind. "The others all appear to be under the assumption that the two of us are close."

"We-fucked close, or we’re-friends close?"

"I am not sure. Regardless, I do not like these rumours to circulate about our relationship, friendly or otherwise. It is not their matter."

"Let them stickybeak, I say. What's gonna happen otherwise? They say something on TV? Couple of magazine articles get written? Couple of horny fan fics are written ‘bout two old farts like us from a sheila young enough to be our daughter?"

Caustic cringes. They say a legend never forgets their first fanart. Caustic had the misfortune that the first he ever encountered was someone who chose to draw his eyebrows ridiculously thick. He doesn’t dare look at what else has been made since.

"Just saying. Ain’t the end of the world. Who cares what people think?"

"I care," Caustic says. "Reputation is everything."

"We're a bunch of murderer contestants who get a kick out of murdering each other again and again. If we cared about what others thought about us, we’d be dead in an instant."

Caustic grumbles lightly as he takes a swig from his beer. By his side, Fuse takes out a cigarette from a carton in his vest pocket and lights it with an in-built lighter on his prosthetic thumb.

"I thought you said you quit smoking."

"Yeah, well, I also said I’ve been without for a month, so I think I deserve a smoko." He takes another one out of the carton and hands it to Caustic. His eyes suddenly go wide. "Sorry, force of habit. Probably don’t smoke, do ya?"

Caustic looks at the pitiful, cheap, toxic combination of tobacco and paper, innocent in appearance yet so deadly in the long term. He glances up at Fuse, plucks the offered cigarette into his mouth, and leans forward to light it. He inhales sharply and coughs loudly into his fist.

Fuse pats his back right between the shoulder blades, making Caustic cough harder.

"You alright, mate?"

Caustic coughs, weaker this time, and takes another slow drag. "Of course not," he grumbles. What was he thinking, partaking in this rite of death?

Fuse stares at Caustic for several seconds. He takes a sip of his beer with one hand, then inhales his own lit cigarette with the other. Smoke flutters in the night air, rising higher and higher.

"Didn’t take you for a smoker," Fuse utters.

"I am not. This is my first one." Caustic takes a drag and coughs again. He does not see the point of seeking stimulants to elicit emotional responses, though his curiosity has gotten the better of him. He doubts he’ll ever have another cigarette again.

"Heh. You continue to be full of surprises tonight."

"Does that offend you?"

"On the contrary. I like it." Fuse suddenly smiles. "Not often I get to see you relax around other people."

He doesn't do this for just anyone, and he suspects Fuse knows this. He'd never do this, but Fuse has been proving to be the exception. An outlier beyond description. 

Fuse continues to tune his guitar while Caustic takes a few more drags of his cigarette, watching the noxious clouds rise up into the atmosphere. The smoke pattern of the cigarette is nowhere near as mesmerising as his gas, but it is still magical in its own way as the different chemicals intersperse in the air.

Once again Caustic feels a sharp gaze on his person and realises that Fuse has stopped strumming to observe him. It’s far from the glares stabbing him in the back or the coy knowing eyes of morons who assume they know better than him. When Fuse stares, he is a scientist, observing the information before him, from the lit cigarette lighting up Caustic’s face to the fumes puffed out his cracked lips to the sullen, quiet not-smile that almost is a _not_ not-smile.

Caustic is sure Fuse has something to say, because his body language tenses all of a sudden. His foot taps out an invisible, impatient rhythm.

"About the two of us," Fuse starts.

"There is no ‘two of us’," Caustic points out.

"I know there isn’t. But there could be." He concentrates on the clouds emanating from Caustic’s lips. "I’m too old to beat around the bush with this stuff. We both know I like you. We’re gonna be seeing each other a lot whether we like it or not, and we've gotten to know each other fairly well—in more ways than one, might I add. Why not give it a try?"

"You want to have a relationship with me?" That little voice in his head wants to tell him there is a catch, but he quells it down. He’s not making the same mistake. Fuse is many things, but for better or worse, he does not deceive others. 

"If you want to," he says. "Boyfriends, lovers, QPR with some benefits on the side. Whichever. I’m game if you're game."

Caustic recalls what the others said about him. That he looks happier around Fuse. That the two of them are better together, both personally and in the midst of combat. Much as he'd like to deny it, there must be some truth to it. He wouldn’t willingly poison his lungs for anyone. He wouldn't stay here for absolutely no reason whatsoever with no personal benefit in sight. He wouldn't look at the person in front of him and wonder what it would be like to love someone so much he'd want to stay by their side constantly. 

Wattson is right about one thing: love is foreign to him. But maybe, just maybe, it won't have to be for much longer.

"Fine," Caustic utters.

"Figured you’d say no, I—wait, did you say…?"

"You desire a relationship. I am amenable to such a request. But I have conditions."

Fuse seems too stunned to respond. Did he really make that suggestion without considering the possibility Caustic might say yes? Caustic withholds the urge to roll his eyes.

"Number one: there will be no nicknames in public. Any nicknames I do allow will be for private use only, and require my express permission beforehand."

Fuse blinks. His mouth is wide open.

"Number two: we—"

But before Caustic can even begin to list the rest of his demands, Fuse has leaned forward and pressed his lips upon his. The momentary surprise gives way to something warm and smoky, pleasant despite the strangeness. Caustic breathes it in, the cheap alcohol mingling with cheaper smoke, the soft prickle of facial hair against facial hair, the thumping in his rib cage that threatens to rip out of its bony prison.

When Fuse drifts away, a quiet chuckle escapes his lips. "Sorry, darl. Couldn’t help myself." Despite his words, he does not sound apologetic.

"You’re lucky no one else is here to witness this breach of personal conduct." Caustic wipes his lips with his sleeve. "Perhaps we should discuss the conditions of this partnership later when your intelligence quotient is higher than the amount of brain cells in your skull."

"I’m just tryna make you look good. The less IQ I got, the smarter you look relative to me." Fuse laughs.

Caustic smiles. "Your inferior intelligence clearly does not affect your ability for verbal sparring."

"They always said I have a silver tongue." Fuse smirks, "You of all people know I ain’t the type to open people up with my words, though I’m pretty handy with that too."

"Hmph. Unfortunately, I am." Caustic says, remembering all too well when Fuse used that _silver tongue_ of his. "So what happens now?"

"Between us?" Fuse takes his own slow drag of the cigarette. "Got no clue. Half the fun is figuring it out."

"I suppose with the right experiments, we will have the data we require to come to an acceptable conclusion," Caustic says.

"In this context, experiments are called 'dates', Al. And _experimenting_ is best done on furniture with good lumbar support." Fuse smiles. "Luckily for you, I've got openings for both types tomorrow if you feel like it."

"We'll see," Caustic says without a hint of irony. "And what about the party? What are you going to do now?"

"Have a bit of a smoko with a cold beer. Practice some tunes. Watch the fire. Not very romantic, considering what we were talking about just now, but I was gonna do that if you rejected me, and unless you've got some other bright ideas, I'm probably still gonna do that."

"I have an experiment running at the moment. It requires several hours within one of my equipment, which is why I even came to this party." He pauses before adding, "Also, I...might've been inclined to partake tonight because I might see you."

Fuse chuckles softly. "Then you probably need to go, don't ya."

He should go. His experiments call for him endlessly, a neverending cycle of time and data and test subjects. He did not make exceptions when he was still on friendly terms with Wattson. He slotted her in between his experiment times and his Apex Games duties. Perhaps a similar arrangement could be made with Fuse, but then again he does not expect Fuse to follow strict guidelines and schedules. He does what he pleases, when he pleases, caution thrown into the wind like a well launched grenade. And even Caustic has to admit, spontaneity does allow for interesting scenarios to appear that might never otherwise appear in more regulated settings. 

Caustic makes himself more comfortable in his chair and takes another slow drag of the cigarette. This time, he does not cough. He does not flinch. He blows out his little cloud and feels his muscle relax, his hardworking brain slowing down incrementally. 

"May I borrow your guitar?" Caustic asks.

Fuse hands it over with little to no fuss, though his eyebrows are raised high. Caustic holds the cigarette in his mouth, puts the beer bottle carefully onto the floor, and strums a chord. It's a bit more difficult with two prosthetic fingers but manageable. 

"You play?" Fuse asks.

"I had music lessons, like any other child. I haven't played since I was a teenager." His finger don't work like they used to, but the sheet music remains clear in his memory, white and black like everything the world should be. Not the trail of grey that rises up in front of his face. Not the sea of grey that stretches out across the cityscape, obscuring the two of them from any prying eyes. 

"You're full of surprises tonight, Al," Fuse smiles affectionately. 

"I know," Caustic admits. He strums a few more chords and smiles. He's not sure if he's smiling out of happiness, but he thinks it's the closest he's ever gotten to that elusive emotion. If the way Fuse looks at him tells him anything, it's that the Salvonian is probably thinking the same thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fuse is now part-Noongar people, which is the name for the Aboriginal Australian people that live in Western Australia, because why the hell not? This is my fic and I want my White-coded character to be less White. (Also, if you are or happen to know the language, please hit me up with some fun Noongar phrases)
> 
> Also also, here are the definitions of the words I used:  
> Kaya, wandjoo = "Hello, welcome". A standard Noongar greeting.  
> lolo = dumb/goofy/crazy. (Either one words for the sentence, pick and choose your flavour)  
> Mahalo nui loa = "Thank you so very much". Basically the ultimate Hawaiian thank you.  
> djaraboort = "dumb".   
> koordamart = "sweetheart"


End file.
